Fourth Toll
by The Itch
Summary: Seven years old, and Harry manages to find someone with a more screwed up life than his own.


**edit: [may 5, 2009] **Just fixing the formatting. I have no desire to continue this story. Anyone who wishes to do so, you are welcome to take the idea and run with it. Just drop me a line so I can see your journey, mmkay? ;)

Taking a bit of a break from Blackened Sunrise right now. Thought I'd toss this out and see what the reaction was.

Take your standard "Harry Gets A Friend Before Going To Hogwarts" plotline, your "Harry Meets Another Witch/Wizard Before Hogwarts" plotline, add a little bit of Leigh-ish D.I.D., and Itch-like psychosis. Mix well with a wooden spoon.

I do not own Harry Potter or anyone related.

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**Fourth Toll**  
_Chapter One: Deviation_  
The Itch

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"Seven, and mentally unstable," came the annoyed snort from the man. The woman across the fence nodded sympathetically. They two neighbors were conversing over their normal afternoon cup of tea, as they had been doing every day since the man had moved in three weeks prior.

A keening wail came from the shed behind the man's house, and he turned, whipping at rock at it, "Keep your mouth shut, girl!"

Petunia Dursley sipped at her tea, completely unfazed by the brutal display. In fact, she rather agreed with his actions, "Have you found someone to take her off your hands yet?" Her real question being a wonderance if she could foist her freak of a nephew off on whomever would take Richard Watts' bastard daughter.

"Unfortunately, no," grumbled the man, "I'm leaving her at Batty Old Figg's place for the next week, though. I could use a little time without the bitch."

The woman tapped her chin appreciatively, "You know, Vernon and I had been thinking about doing the same thing with the boy."

"Well it is a marvelous idea," Richard puffed up, having thought of it himself only shortly after meeting the cat-obsessed freak at the end of the road. The tenants of numbers three and four Privet Drive smiled at each other, and began to discus what they would do with their "burdens" ditched on someone else for a week.

It was really too bad that if they left them any longer people would start getting suspicious and might report them to the police; neither really wanted to be on charges of child abandonment.

---

So it came that the two seven year olds were dropped off at Arabella Figg Senior's abode. Harrison James Potter looked like any other boy in oversized rags of destroyed and stained clothing. His black hair was messy, and his green eyes slightly hazy from being cuffed upside the head as a reminder not to do "anything funny" when he was with his long-time babysitter.

Karen Lucania Watts was another story completely. Her wide chocolate eyes shined with childish innocence-- the innocence of a three or four year old, not a seven year old-- but that was the only hint of her childhood in her. A thick steel mask covered the lower half of her face, leaving only slits for her to breath out of. It clasped behind her head, over top of the long crimson plait that hung to her ass. She was dressed in what could be construed as the outfit of a porcelain doll-- a gothic porcelain doll, as the dress was mostly black, with white trim and white crinoline. Dainty little black gloves decorated with white lace covered her hands, and she wore matching socks with little white dress shoes.

Dress shoes that were dirty smudged, and it one took a good look, they'd realize that the dress had many rips and tears, and that the white frills were more grey and dirty than white.

Arabella looked down at the children, ushering them into the house and frowning. Although she may have looked like a senile old bat to any muggle, this was a witch in the prime of her life-- her early seventies-- and she did not like what she was seeing. On any other day, she would have passed Harry's mismatched and dirty clothing as his attempt not to ruin his good clothes rough-housing, but with poor Karen... and the way the two had been dropped off by Petunia and Richard...

There was something seriously wrong with this situation, but there was nothing she could do-- at least, wizarding-wise. No one in the ministry-- not even Dumbledore!-- knew she lived here. She had lived in this house longer than the Dursleys had been living on Privet drive, and she'd be damned if she was forced out of her house for being to close to Harry Potter. But, she could help these children, even without use of her magic.

"Come along now, Karen-dear," Arabella crooned, taking the seven year old's hand and drawing her towards the bathroom. Harry followed silently, curious as to what was going to happen. Once within the lavatory, Arabella stripped off the dirty grimy, ruined dress, leaving the girl only in her underwear-- as appalling as it was, it appeared she was only wearing a pair of Richard's old boxers beneath her skirt-- as well as her gloves, socks and mask. Harry stood to one side, still watching curiously, wondering what exactly was going on. Nibbling at his lip, he stepped further into the loo, cocking his head to one side like a puppy-dog.

Arabella ignored him, hissing under her breath as she caught sight of the abrasions that decorated the girl's body. Those were not good. Turning to her cupboards, she rummaged about, pulling out one of the healing potions she made at regular intervals, and began to rub the softly glowing amethyst jelly-like substance over the injuries. It sunk into her flesh, but it would take some time for the potion to activate-- the potion was old, almost two years old, if the dust gathered under her bathroom sink was any indication.

Carefully, Arabella turned Karen around and began the arduous task of removing the steel mask. Whomever put it on, really didn't want Karen to take it off any time soon. Once that was free, her braid was unraveled and all manor of insects and trash fell from it's tangled weave. Harry looked distrustfully at everything that was on the floor, but remained silent as his uncle had commanded him to.

Clucking her tongue, Arabella ran the bath water, before rubbing some of the potion into the girl's sunken cheeks. She looked horrible. She reached for the boxers that hung on slender hips, ready to strip those off and deposit the young girl into the bath, when a black gloved hand flashed, catching her wrist in a vice-like grip.

Startled, the woman looked up from her kneeling position, and found herself staring. Karen's wide chocolate eyes had narrowed almost to slits, the color leeching out to a cold ice-pale shade of grey. Her cracked and bloody lips were pursed, "What you doing...?" her speech was halting, as though she was having trouble speaking. Not to surprising, given the mask that had once covered her face.

"Come now," Arabella smiled reassuringly, "You just need a bath, Karen-dear."

The girl tipped her head to one side, "Ah. Bath. Know what is, but never had. And Vyse."

"Vyse?" wondered the woman.

"Name. Vyse," the grey-eyed one frowned, eyes going distant, "Innocent come back. But Vyse watch." and the grey eyes darkened to confused, and frightened chocolate.

"Wha... what happened...?" the confused, shaky voice of the girl sounded like it should come from someone two or three years her junior.

"I don't know," Arabella murmured, "Ah, Karen-dear, shall we give you a wash? Harry-dear, come here and help."

Harry looked a bit startled, having thought she had forgotten his existence. Hesitantly, he stepped forwards as Karen stripped off the boxers, gloves and boots, climbing into the warmth of the bath, "What should I...?"

"Wash her back-- carefully, mind you-- and try to get that junk out of her hair. When she's done, it's your turn, Harry-dear."

---

By the end of the week, Arabella had secured a promise from the two of them that if they ever had problems at home to come to her for help. Well, from Harry and Karen, at least. Over the course of those seven days, the old woman had learned exactly why Karen was forced to wear that steel mask at most times.

And her name was Enehy.

Vyse had come forth once or twice, to protest some action or another taken against her, but it was Wednesday Night, the second last night the two were to remain at Figg's residence, that Enehy made her rather brutal appearance. They had just finished eating, and Arabella had requested that Karen and Harry go down into the cellar to get some whipped cream for a snack they would be having later that night. They had readily agreed, the two sort-of-friends walking down side-by-side.

Everything was fine until Karen tripped on the stairs and went tumbling all the way down. Arabella had heard the crash and came running to find out what was the matter-- looking to both Harry and the fallen Karen like some avenging evil come to kill them from her silhouette at the top of the stairs.

A feral snarl came from Karen's lips, and her eyes quite literally glowed crimson in the cellar's darkness-- the light switch being at the bottom of the stairs for some godforsaken reason. Harry froze in the middle of the stairs; this was new. This was frightening.

"Pretty-pretty move?" purred a lilting, strangely accented voice from Karen's throat, "Pretty-pretty move." Harry felt himself pushed back against the wall, and Karen bounded up the stairs on all fours. The look on her face was one of pure insanity.

Wild grin in place, she lunged for Arabella's shadow, positive that there was danger from this strange woman, lips drawn back from the wicked fangs that had always decorated her mouth. Wide eyes, crimson iris glowing, and pupils all but pinpoint dots of black froze the seventy-some-odd woman in place, looking at this sprite of a feral girl in no little amount of awe. Then pain ripped through her arm as not-quite-Karen's teeth sunk into her flesh.

Arabella gave a startled howl of pain, and Harry broke free of his strange trance, "Karen!"

The girl shook her head, like a dog worrying a bone, although the fact that she was trying to bite through Figg's arm was rather terrifying. He didn't stop to think, he only did. A spark of magic rippled out of him, latching onto Karen and teleporting-- teleporting!-- her to the bottom of the stairs.

Annoyed, and somewhat confused, Karen looked around for a moment, then started bounding up the stairs again. Quick as he could, Harry grabbed a length of extension cord that was hanging on the wall for easy access, and looped it around Karen's neck, hauling her backwards.

Crimson eyes widened, and she scrabbled wildly at the cord around her neck, a keening wail filling the air that was all to familiar. It was a wail that pierced the air many a night on Privet drive; one that had always been attributed to the near-by park being haunted.

After moments of struggle, she went limp. Afraid that he'd killed someone, Harry had let the cord go free. Thankfully, Karen stood only a minute later-- and thankfully, crimson eyes had turned grey. Vyse's gaze swept over them, far to old to be that of the seven year old standing before them. She rubbed her throat irritably, "Harrison. Brutal, but efficient. Thank-you. Enehy is... hard to control."

"Enehy?" wondered Arabella, somewhat surprised that she was taking Karen's second personality so well.

"Enehy... unstable. Watts... chain up; fears Enehy. Fears own death. Smart. Enehy will kill Watts. Now, later, know not. Enehy dangerous."

"We kinda got that," Harry muttered, watching Vyse carefully. She wasn't known for her patience. This 'Enehy' may be insane and quite possibly a potential murderer, but Vyse was sane. Vyse had no heart, no soul. She would kill without second thought.

"Harrison... Enehy more dangerous than assume. Mask for Enehy."

Following that, Vyse had allowed the clueless Karen back into control, leaving Harry and Arabella to figure it out themselves. They each came to their own conclusions-- Harry that as the one to have stopped Enehy, that it was his 'duty' to continue to do so. He had apparently been watching far to many cartoons, and reading too many comic books. Arabella decided to enchant Karen's steel mask.

So when they left, Karen had the mask in place, but the enchantments on it-- something only Vyse knew off-- would respond to the mental commands so needed to cause the mask to retract into the earrings of her newly-pierced ears, or to come forth and protect her face. Arabella had insisted she get her ears pierced as "no self-respecting woman would be without pierced ears"-- and not only were her ears pierced, but her hair had been cut severely short, due to all the damage her hair had suffered over the years without proper care. It hung in a shaggy crimson mess to her shoulders.

She had replaced Harry's worn and cracked NHS glasses with a nice pair "bought" from Lenscraft-- more like patterned after a pair from the store, using magic. She had gotten both new clothing, enchanted to look exactly like the clothing they had been dropped off wearing-- at least, to the Dursleys and Watts. To everyone else, the clothing was much more clean, repaired, and fitting. Harry had thought the clothing that actually fit correctly felt strange, and thus just went with an over-sized pair of shorts and a baggy t-shirt. Karen had promptly patterned her own outfit after his.

When they left, Harry had made Karen promise to be his best friend. He had a feeling that they would need each other's support in the future. He wanted Karen's help in figuring out this freakish power that both seemed to have.

He had no idea how his friendship with the disassociative identity disordered girl would change his own fate.

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**End Chapter.**

So, should I continue this, or just leave as is?


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